


From the Ashes

by RoisinDubhCosplay



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Ashes Scene in Avengers: Infinity War Part 1, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-20
Updated: 2018-05-20
Packaged: 2019-05-09 07:36:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14711861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoisinDubhCosplay/pseuds/RoisinDubhCosplay
Summary: For a moment Steve can just watch, paralyzed; he cannot move, he cannot even speak, it's so surreal, so – "Steve?" And with that single word, the ground falls away. ---- To me, the last scene between Steve and Bucky felt too rushed, so I decided create my own version. No Stucky intended, but read as you will, we know it's a thin line for those two. SPOILERS for Infinity War, obviously.





	From the Ashes

**Author's Note:**

> I've watched Infinity War three times now and I still don't feel so good.

**From the ashes**

The pain is everywhere. Every intake of breath sends a stabbing sensation through his body, and Steve thinks he can feel where the two pieces of a broken rib bone grate against each other as he moves. He's aching all over, sweat and blood alike coat his skin, and yet – he's alive.

He staggers where he stands, expecting another blow, but he's gone.

Thanos is _gone_.

Realization settles slowly, and Steve allows himself to hope that maybe, _maybe_ –

"Steve? What's going on?"

The words make him freeze where he stands on unsteady feet. He can feel the cold of dread wash over him, because he _knows_ that voice, knows the tone; a sound that has been engraved in his very bones, his aching bones, for decades.

It's 1928 all over again, and Steve is fighting for each breath as pneumonia holds his lungs in an iron grip, and Bucky's there, staring, clenching his fists, scared although Steve has never seen him afraid and it takes 9 year old Steve a while to understand that his best friend is scared for his sake.

It's 2018, and Steve can hear the fear in Bucky's voice.

It's not over.

He turns around, steeling himself for another fight even though his whole body screams in protest. He turns around, ready to fight for those around him, knowing that whatever happens, Bucky will have his back. Buck -

Steve's shallow breath catches in his throat when he sees his friend. He knows, in that instant, that whatever's going on is bad, _earth collapsing beneath your feet_ bad; he knows it because Bucky stares wide-eyed at Steve, all fight in him gone. He's scared and confused and Steve only understands when Bucky makes another step forward and the vibranium arm suddenly starts to disintegrate. For a moment Steve can just watch, paralyzed; he cannot move, he cannot even speak, it's so surreal, so –

"Steve?"

And with that single word, the ground falls away.

It falls away, everything falls away, for Bucky Barnes is terrified and Steve knows that this blank terror is for him. After all this time, after all the past, for some reason beyond Steve's comprehension it's his friend's gut instinct to put him before everything. Even before himself.

It's 1943 all over again, and Steve has just pulled a dazed and weak sergeant off a metal table, and still the man has the audacity to ask if he's alright.

It's 2014 and a soldier who doesn't even know his own name jumps into a river to drag a dying stranger to land.

It's 2016 and Bucky is on the ground, bleeding and hurting, grabbing Tony by the ankle to give Steve just one more, small chance.

Always have your back. Always on your left.

It's 2018 and Steve can see the terror in his friend's eyes, the overwhelming fear that Steve will leave him; but it's Bucky's arm that soundlessly turns to ash while Steve doesn't feel a thing, and Steve suddenly knows, with gut-wrenching clarity, that he'll be too late.

_Again._

The gun falls from Bucky's hand, and for a moment he reaches out for him, offering his hand like a lifeline that Steve cannot grasp. Steve can see his friend's eyes widening, pleading, and by God he has every right to plead, to beg that he may stay, though Steve knows that Bucky's wish is just for Steve to be safe. But if God himself allowed him to choose Steve would take his place in a heartbeat.

God is cruel today, and it's 1945 again.

Hands are reaching, _reaching_ , just a bit further, but time ticks away, mercilessly and blind towards the agony that runs through Steve's battered body as his gaze meets Bucky's while the ashes keep on falling. The arm, shoulder, left side, dust and ash and a million broken promises that tumble onto Wakanda's ground, and before their fingers even touch – so close, _so close_ \- the face that Steve has known all his life fades away and time, the cruel mistress, finally stands still.

There's nothing.

Nothing left but ash on the ground, a broken cry on his lips and an emptiness that can break the soul of the strongest man.

Not again, he thinks; not like _this_ , he pleads; not him, not _him_ , when I'm still here.

He allows himself one moment of hope; he hopes for someone to turn back time, to make this right, but he isn't granted that last favor no matter the price he's willing to pay. And he _would_ pay, God knows he'd give his life and gladly so, for _this_ – this is worse.

His body finally gives in then, and he falls to his knees, unable to fight anymore, and what does it matter anyway. He sees Thor from the corner of his eyes, faintly he can hear Natasha, "Sam? Sam, do you copy? Damnit Wilson, I said, do you copy? Come one, gimme something!", and the ash is cold beneath his hands.

Gone.

And he thinks, it wasn't supposed to happen like this. He understands, now, that he has been prepared to die fighting, because he should have died so many times and never did, and if anyone was supposed to die in this war it should have been him.

He understands, just now, that he has been afraid all along. Afraid, not of death, for death is peaceful, but of this emptiness that fills his very core.

He's failed, again, and for some reason, due to some twisted joke of fate, he's still here. He's still _here_ , his body is, but Steve feels like he's somewhere else. Maybe this is an illusion and he is the one turned to dust. He should have died in 1918 after birth, he should have died in 1928, he shouldn't have survived Project Rebirth, he almost died on mission in the winter of 43/44, he should have died on the train, and then in the ice. He could have died in New York or Sokovia, like all the others. So maybe he truly is dead now, and that is why he feels so numb, and Bucky is –

The hand on his shoulder ends his desperate bargaining.

His hands are grey, the dust falls through his fingers, and what he called home has fallen away for he knows now that home is not a place. Home is a state of mind. Home is the people that keep the ground beneath your feet.

Nat's fingers gently press into his shoulder, and it's the only thing he feels in that moment.

Steve Rogers knows pain. He is familiar with the ringing in the ears after a blow to the head, the sharp burn of a stab wound, the agony of a bullet to the gut, broken bones; it will all heal eventually.

The soul, however, will not. Not like this, not if this reality is the one he is doomed to exist in.

He doesn't shake, he doesn't cry; he's numb and cold and oh, he embraces the cold, because _this_ – this is more than he can take.

A rush of wind carries the dust and ash away, but a small part remains on his bloodied hands.

"Oh God," he whispers, his voice raw and bleeding with the emptiness his shattered soul left behind. Not again, he thinks, I can't lose him again, not today, not like this. And he hates himself for his selfishness, for surely Bucky isn't the only one, and yet, right now, he's the only one who truly matters.

Time can be turned back. Fate can be undone. He's seen it happen.

He wills himself to turn his gaze away from the dust-littered ground. His eyes are burning, the only feeling left in his state of numb shock, but slowly the burning begins to spread like fire eats away the dry, crumbled leaves that help start a bonfire.

He should have searched for him in 1945, in the snowy ravines of the Alps. And maybe they are forever doomed to be apart, destined to only ever exist while the other is gone; but Steve wants to live, not just survive, not just exist. No matter what it takes, he'll make this right.

It's not the end of the line.

Not like this.

This time, he won't rest until he feels the ground beneath his feet again.

And if it takes a million different universes, an infinite number of timelines to cross, he better starts now.

_From the ashes a fire shall be woken_

 

**Author's Note:**

> The title was, of course, inspired by JRR Tolkien's poem, "From the ashes a fire shall be woken / A light from the shadow shall spring / Renewned be the blade that was broken / The crownless again shall be king."
> 
> This is the first time I post something on AO3, and just like Steve I still have to figure out how technology works here ;)


End file.
